


PREVIEW - The Adventures of John Watson: A Study in Puce

by kafeiro



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-13
Updated: 2012-07-13
Packaged: 2017-11-09 21:29:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/458642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kafeiro/pseuds/kafeiro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leather, brass, old wood, and gaslight. This is London and John Watson, though he can’t afford to stay, doesn’t want to leave it for the world. Hindered by a low-end motorized prosthetic leg and the less than exciting capsule he calls home, hope comes in the form of Sherlock Holmes, the Man with the Magnificent Mind, who seem set to be John’s saviour in a dozen ways or more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	PREVIEW - The Adventures of John Watson: A Study in Puce

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tseecka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tseecka/gifts).



> This story is under construction while I do more research (AKA obsessively watching A Study in Pink with A Study in Scarlet open at my side) in between shifts at work.  
> This is only a short segment of what is written, but I shall update properly once I am satisfied with how things are progressing. As it says, this work is a gift for Tseecka, without whom this would never have been born to begin with as it is her enthusiasm and encouragement that drives me onwards.
> 
> A few things to note that I suppose could be classed as spoilerish...  
> \- Neither John nor Sherlock are robots/androids/cyborgs/whathaveyou, though by this point neither party would consider themselves completely human any longer; John in a more derogatory, self-loathing fashion, Sherlock in a triumphant one.  
> \- This is part one of a series that will initially be BBC!Canon compliant before veering off into its own territory. This means story one will follow the plot of ASIP, two with TBB, and so on and so forth.  
> \- There'll be a lot more backstory and family business included all round, especially for Sherlock and Mycroft.

Sweat. Heat. Panic. For far too long now John Watson had awoken this way, panting, twitching, and alone to deal with his nightmares. There wasn’t much room to thrash, space to scream out or sob when reality hit and he remembered where he was. All he had was the capsule and the possibility of a few moments of solitude in the hallway by his storage locker, maybe even in the lift for a floor or two if he was especially lucky.

He couldn’t quite recall how long it had been since he’d escaped the war, not at all helped by the fact that it felt daily as though he’d never managed. The sheer reality that he still reacted the way he did, still felt those chills and shakes and painful hammering beats of his heart, amazed and unnerved him because, surely, after all this time he should be used to it, adjusted. Laying alone in the dark did little, as expected, to drag him from the darkness in his own mind, so John reached out blindly to his side, rueing the fact that already it was so simple for him to find the switch in his tiny little shell of a home. It took a few moments for everything to kick in, the pod filling with a steady low hum and a faint vibration, and expectantly John braced himself for the moment when a soft click sounded, followed by a much louder buzz, and the stuttering fluorescent light flared and faded like a miniature super-sped sun.

In the light the capsule was not much more impressive than it felt in the dark. There was room to lay with some leeway, perfectly pill-shaped - with just a few switches and wires detracting - and faintly reminiscent of the older submarines. It was all worked, warped metal that glowed orange under the power of the lamp overhead. It was…not really very pretty, but at least it provided a little security and a certain place for John to lay his head on an evening. The only issue was that John had little else to do, nowhere else really to spend his time, and so the already boring, close walls were fast getting more and more boring, and the itch to get out and find something, absolutely anything else to do crept up more and more quickly with each passing day.

Sighing, John reached over to his other side and flicked another switch, this one also taking its time to get to work, the mechanics in motion creaking and thrumming just as loudly as the lights, until finally the door eased open with a hiss and the room beyond gradually came into view.

What lay beyond his bed was nothing more than another room, the home of all the capsule rooms crushed side by side and stacked one atop the other in a sort of organized chaos, everything identical but plainer than plain. He hated it yet could do absolutely nothing but stay. Leaving would mean leaving London and that, even with all her problems and dangers, he simply couldn’t bear thinking about. In order to actually get out John had to shuffle his way down to the edge to swing his way down from the pod, not an easy task for most tenants and certainly not one for him. The war had affected him and made him bone weary anyway, but as he made his way down his hip ached and his leg creaked in protest. He landed on the ground with a thud and a squeak, hissing in discomfort as the impact sparked right up through his side, and not for the first time he was forced to proceed very delicately, limping his way over to the storage lockers to retrieve his coat, his wallet, and his oil. He knew from experience that if his leg was playing up already it didn’t bode well for the rest of the day, so it was imperative that he curb the problem from the start, and though it was not an ideal solution the oil he carried with him was a decent enough fix for his liking. Just a little lubrication until the noise stopped, a light jacket to stave off the mild British wind, and enough money on his person for a paper, some liquid indulgence, and a little extra just in case, and he’d be set for the rest of the day outside. Unfortunately he had a less than thrilling appointment before the prospect of freedom could properly come into play and so he shrugged on his coat with little enthusiasm and, still carefully, began his walk.


End file.
